


House of the Rising Sun

by cajunquandary



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Other, Poltergeists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27025540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cajunquandary/pseuds/cajunquandary
Summary: Sam and Dean run into another hunter while working a case at a haunted house in New Orleans when they get trapped. With time working against them, they are surprised to discover the deep history of the house and the nature of its inhabitants and are forced to make a hard call.
Relationships: None
Kudos: 1





	House of the Rising Sun

**Author's Note:**

> House of the Rising Sun is an old folksong and many people have done covers of it, but The Animals did my favorite version. It’s one of my top three favorite songs. While listening to it a few days ago, the ideas for this fic came flooding to me. I hope you enjoy it!

The doors of the Impala squeaked open as Sam and Dean slowly emerged, not once taking their eyes off of the two-story Victorian beauty that stood before them. While her many layers of paint were chipped and falling from her like snow every time the wind blew, her boards moaning in protest, some spindles and a few bricks missing here and there, she still stood tall and magnificent. Sam wondered what she’d looked like in full glory back in her day, knowing that the smudgy black and white photo clippings from news articles hadn’t done her justice. Dean shivered involuntarily when his eyes followed her dips and curves to the big golden sun amulet suspended on the second story balcony, and the weathered sign dangling from it that said “Rising Sun Casino.”

As massive as the home was, it was a blip compared to the giant casinos the boys had passed on their drive down. The neighborhood around her was just as empty, most just lots with mangled foundations where businesses and houses once stood. Chain link fences and trash littered the area, and grass grew in patches, thick and full, but not near the house. No—the entire acre was nothing but red clay and black dirt. The house itself bleached from its former vibrant blue, purple, and yellow to a white-washed gray, except for the golden amulet. Somehow, it seemed to glow, possibly even vibrate if you stared hard enough.

“Dean… maybe we should get back up.”

“What, Sammy, afraid of a few ghosts?”

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother, who had broken his eerie concentration and began to gather the necessary tools. “I’m just not so sure we should be doing this alone. We don’t know how many ghosts are in there, or how old and angry they are. You know like a hundred people or more have died here?”

“Yeah, yeah. You gave me the speech already. Prostitutes, gamblers, drunks, a few unlucky city workers, etcetera etcetera.”

“Not just that, but weird things have been happening here since it was made into a casino a century ago. Before that, it was a plantation home.”

“I get it Sam. Hey,” Dean slammed the trunk closed, arms full of extra salt and the usual duffle bag. “The other hunter should be here. She called and asked for help, so we’re her backup. What was her name?”

Sam helped take some of the boxes from Dean’s arms before they all toppled over. “Y/N, I think.”

“Yeah, Y/N should be here already. That’s probably her car.” Dean nodded towards the little diesel Volkswagen, grimacing slightly at the shape it was in. Sure, maybe it ran, but one of the tires was newly flat and the windshield was nearly shattered, not to mention the various dents on the body and missing front bumper. He glanced back towards the Impala lovingly, “I’d never treat you like that, Baby.”

Sam turned on his EMF reader, and they slowly approached the porch, watching all the windows that weren’t boarded up carefully as the last rays of the day shot through the shadows behind them.

“Here we go. Remember, the city is coming in to attempt demolition again. Last time, the entire crew was slaughtered. We have to get this done, and we only have three days.”

Dean eyed his brother cockily. “I’ll do it in one.”

The EMF reader went wild, the air around the boys dropping suddenly. The floorboards of the porch groaned beneath them angrily and the house seemed to move on its own. Just as they were fumbling for the salt guns, everything stopped as quickly as it’d begun. Sam swallowed hard and Dean flinched as you spun around the corner and stood in the doorway, facing them.

“Well don’t stand there all day, get in here, Winchester!” You put your hands on your hips in irritation, oblivious to the previous drop in temperature and quaking. You’d been in the house for a few days already and were in absolutely NO mood for tomfoolery, dried blood on your face and arms from wounds sustained during the stay so far. “And you can put that EMF reader away, the place is crawling with Death-Echoes and possibly a poltergeist.”

Sam and Dean, wide-eyed and worried, stepped over the threshold. Dean asked if you were okay, but you shrugged him away with a cold “I’m fine.” Sam tried to shake the feeling of hopelessness and dread that washed over him. There was no doubt that this place was evil—the boys knew real evil, and some of it was here with them in this house.

There is a house in New Orleans

They call the rising sun

And it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy

And God, I know I’m one

Day One

The three sat huddled around the small flame in the grand fireplace at the center of the house, a salt circle around them. “Man, you couldn’t pack anything better than tuna?” Dean griped at Sam, sniffing the can suspiciously and pouting.

“You’re lucky I packed anything at all.”

“Well, we’ve been here for eight hours already, the sun’s gonna be up soon, and I haven’t seen a single ghost! EMF is still going crazy though. I’m hungry and bored, man.”

Dean offered you the can of tuna, but you held up your hand and graciously passed. “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”

Sam scooped the last of his can into his mouth, chewing twice and swallowing. “So what got you started hunting, Y/N? You’re pretty young.”

My mother was a tailor

She sewed my new blue jeans

My father was a gamblin man

Down in New Orleans

“I’m twenty two, thanks, and I’ve got the soul of an old man. My mom was a teacher, and my dad was in the air force, both for thirty years. A vamp got them downtown one day after an anniversary trip to a casino. My sister and I got out, but my sister went into the system and I lost her, she wouldn’t talk to me anymore. Somehow their deaths were my fault. She needed someone to blame, and I was convenient. I chased the truth though, and here I am. She’s off at some fancy college now, and that’s where she should stay. She deserves a life.”

Dean looked to Sam, the guilt there he felt for dragging Sam back into the life evident even though he knew it would’ve happened anyway. “So where were the death echoes? What were they?”

“A few were service ladies here and there, murdered by their bosses and clients. A few others were gamblers gutted over debts, servants beaten to death, a few hung themselves in their rooms, you know, a normal spattering considering the history of this place.”

“And you said there might be a poltergeist?”

“Possibly, I think there is one seriously pissed off Egyptian ghost trapping everyone here. There are so many… sometimes it’s quiet, but others… it’s like hundreds of them all at once.” You remembered back to the first time you’d seen them. It had come all at once—one, two, four, twenty, two hundred, maybe more. This truly was one of the most haunted places you’d ever seen in your hunting career. Caught off guard by the sheer immensity of the moment, you’d been thrown backwards by an invisible force, hitting your head hard enough to pass out after a moment more of watching the echoes, vision blurring to black. When you’d come to, you’d called for back-up, the number Garth had left you for “just in case” some years ago. Your head pounded the whole time, and it was a wonder your message had been audible at all through the slurs of pain. Not but an hour later, you’d attempted to get to your feet when the echoes began again, this time with your iron rounds loaded and ready to take out the invisible ghost that’d thrown you. You aimed the direction it had come from before, shooting when the air began to whip around you. The force didn’t even flinch, and you looked around in horror as you realized that the force filled the entire house, radiating from every wall, door, window, floor, and ceiling. You went flying again, dragged all the way to the basement and tossed against the damp stone wall. It was there that you laid still and silent, hiding until you heard the Impala roll up.

Sam brought you back to the present. “Egyptian? Does it have something to do with the amulet outside? It looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out where it’s from.”

You sighed, pulling your legs in closer, careful not to disturb the salt line. “It’s the amulet of Akhenaten, or originally, Amenhotep IV. He was an Egyptian pharaoh who ruled for seventeen years, known for abandoning many traditional views like polytheism and introduced worship around Aten, a solar deity who was supposed to bring great bounty.”

Dean scooched closer to the fire, the light reflecting beautifully off of his face and casting curious shadows across his eyes. “I take it not many people liked that.”

“That’s an understatement. They tore down his monuments, destroyed everything he’d done and built. All of his symbols and legacies. It’s rumored that he sold his soul to have the power of a god. He wanted to strike down his enemies, make them suffer. He lost his mind though, and I think he is still linked to the amulet outside. The problem is, every time anyone has tried to steal, vandalize, move, or adjust it, they die. Instantly. It’s made of pure gold, so many have tried.”

Dean nodded along, muttering a sarcastic “Great.”

Sam actually looked somewhat excited. “That’s cool! We’ve never come across an Egyptian pharaoh. How do we get to the amulet, though? If Akhenaten has become a poltergeist, does it matter? Is he keeping the ghosts here? Because there’s no mentions of hauntings until that amulet got here.”

“I think he is. I mean, they destroyed everything he worked for, he just wants attention. I haven’t seen him, but—“

Dean interrupted, “Wait, wait, wait. Poltergeists are attached to places where big evil has manifested, right? Like old demons? So what? Were the ‘ladies’ here summoning demons?”

“It’s possible, Dean. The people who came here were desperate, they came hoping for better lives but only found corruption, pain, and death—sin and misery. There’s no telling what could’ve gone down under this roof.”

As if on que, the fire flickered nearly out, causing Dean to jump back in concern. Sam whipped his head around, searching for the source. The three of you slowly got to your feet as the salt circle around you dissipated, seeming to melt into the floorboards. You gulped hard, the Winchesters already shouldering their shotguns. Just as it’d happened before, the death echoes appeared. One, two, four, twenty, two hundred. “Get ready!” You shouted over the growing din. You sunk back behind the large men, already in fear of what was to come. The wind in the room picked up, whipping the jacket around you, the boys shooting into the fray wildly, reloading faster than you knew anyone could. You were flying through the air again, the invisible force tearing at you violently and you screamed, struggling as it whipped you from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, and down the hall and to the basement.

When you woke, the sun was shining through the cracks in the boards on the windows. Carefully, you picked your way up the stairs back to the first level of the house, then up to the second, where Sam and Dean were trying desperately to break open the windows, doors, walls, anything to get outside.

“What’s wrong?” Your voice was small, quivering.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean exploded, sending the iron crowbar flying across the room until it lodged into the wall only inches from your head.

“Dean! Watch it! You nearly killed me!”

“We’re trapped. There’s no way out. How the hell are we supposed to kill this thing?”

“Well, if we could get one of the death echoes to realize that it’s dead, release it from its cycle, but convince it to destroy itself and attack the poltergeist, maybe. But even then, it might take several echoes to be strong enough to do it.” Sam looked exasperated, leaning against the wall and staring up at the ceiling that seemed all too close now.

“That’s not a bad idea, Sam. Tonight, let’s stir them up and see what we can do,” You offered, but Sam never looked up. Dean walked towards you and whispered, “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” as he pulled the iron from the wall.

You smiled at him, unable to remain angry. You were far too tired for that. Soon, the boys were leaning together in a corner of the room, weapons across their laps at the ready, powering down for a nap before the sun set. Dean gasped and tensed, looking just over your shoulder, and you jumped to follow his gaze.

“What?!” You startled.

“I thought I saw something.” Dean shrugged it off.

Sam traded a sad look with his brother, and offered to stay up. Dean obliged, knowing that the best way to protect Sammy was when he’d had at least a few minutes of shut eye. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake here.

“Sam, I’ll stay up and keep watch. You guys get some rest, I think I got enough earlier. Get some sleep.” You settled down next to Sam, who began to shiver lightly, pulling his coat tighter around him. It wasn’t long before he was asleep as well, the brothers wrapped up in each other’s warmth.

Day Two

For nearly four hours, the house was silent, except for the occasional creaks and whispers of the old boards. The sun had set, and from what you could see outside, there wasn’t so much as a star in the sky. You could see nothing beyond your fingertips as you held them out. You struck a match and lit the old oil lamp close to you, not wanting to disturb the boys by reaching for their flashlights. What had happened to all your own gear? You couldn’t remember. No surprise really, after the beating you’d been through in the last few days.

Dean stirred with a gentle, tired moan with the illumination, and opened his eyes slowly at first, then wide when he looked at you. “Y/N…”

“What’s wrong, Dean? Are you okay?”

He swallowed hard, jaw clenching and eyes red-rimmed.

“Hey, I promise we’ll get out of here soon. Let’s try to talk to the echoes from here tonight, okay?” You tried to sound more reassuring than you’d felt, suddenly upset with yourself for bringing them into this and not leaving when you had the chance.

“I-I’m okay,” He whispered, amazement in his eyes. He gently shifted Sam from his shoulder to the wall and moved closer to you, his eyes not leaving you once. “How… How are you?”

“Alright, I guess. I got thrown pretty hard again. Honestly I’m surprised that my head doesn’t hurt as bad as it did the first time.”

“Why?”

“Why, what, Dean?”

“Why did you start hunting? I mean, I know why, but why did you keep going after you killed the vamp? You were so young…”

Now the only thing a gambler needs

Is a suitcase and a trunk

And the only time he’s satisfied

Is when he’s on a drunk

“Hey, I know I’m young but that doesn’t mean I’ll be doing this forever. I just wanted to help out around town. I had friends that needed help, then they had friends who did, too. I guess I just kinda got sucked into it. I’ve got plans though. I’d like to travel a little, I never have gotten out much. I don’t need any big life, just a little one. Me and the open road, fighting the bad guys. Yeah, I like that. Like you.” You gazed into the distance, eyes full of hope and longing. When you finally turned back to face him, Dean had a tear streak down his face.

“Trust me, that life ain’t nothin special.”

“Maybe not, but it’s better than what I’ve got here. I’ve always loved the open road, it’s the only time I’ve ever felt… satisfied, you know? I’ll fight anything any day, but I like to run, leave everything in the rearview. Just, bust into town, save the day, and out again.”

Dean just nodded grimly. From Garth’s description, the Winchesters seemed larger than life, maybe a little brooding, but mostly powerful, like they could take on anything and win without hardly breaking a sweat. To see the boys looking so small, so human, compared to the legends they were made to be put a dull ache in your chest. Maybe you shouldn’t be hopeful of an escape.

“Sam. Sammy!” Dean shouted as the temperature dropped lower, enough now that he could see his breath in the air. It was mid-summer, so none of you had dressed for the frigid atmosphere of the house at all times of day. Really, it only ever seemed to get colder. Still, the drops were a reliable warning. Dean crawled quickly to his brother, shaking him awake. Sam gripped his gun and pulled it to the ready out of reflex, catching your gaze and holding it, a loud gasp leaving his lips as he looked around, clearing the rest of the room. “Sam, no…”

The brothers traded a look you couldn’t decipher and Dean tapped his temple and shook his head slowly, helping Sam to his feet. The room was still. Too still. You could hear the brother’s heartbeats, racing, as yours must be.

The echoes began, but this time, you and the Winchesters were able to release a few before the invisible force of Akhenaten found you. The boys were thrown first, Dean recovering more quickly than Sam, screaming above the noise, and you were flying through the air again, the boys chasing after you. Before you knew it, you were back in the main room, ashes from last night’s fire scattered and suspended like snow in the air. You fought back, but once again, the poltergeist got the better of you and threw you down the stairs to the basement.

It wasn’t long before you’d come back around, choking in the mustiness of the moldy room. Worried about the other hunters, you bolted up the stairs, searching for them in the usual places, but finding them locked in a bathroom on the first floor. You opened the heavy door and tried to step over the threshold, but something was keeping you at bay. Before you could think of why, Dean stepped forward, Sam right behind him.

Sam’s mouth was pressed in a tight line. He cleared his throat before he spoke. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine! Would y’all quit asking me that? I’m more worried about you two. Garth gave me the impression that you knew what you were doing and could handle a tricky situation like this.”

“Trust me sweetheart, there’s not much that could’ve prepared us for this.” Dean pushed past you, ever careful not to touch you, as you’d made it pretty clear you didn’t want to be touched in the first five minutes of meeting them. Now though, you almost craved the touch. When was the last time you’d been warm? When was the last time you’d had some human contact? Surely it’d been weeks. Maybe you could steal a lean at some point. Something—anything—to ground you and remind you of the warm world waiting for you outside those doors. Somewhere beyond this House of the Rising Sun was the sun rising and spreading its heat, and oh, how you longed for it, more than food, water, or anything you’d ever craved, you craved that.

You sighed, lost in thought, the boys already back in the main room, voices raising in argument. Curious, you resigned and followed. Sam stopped mid-sentence, unable to continue in your presence.

Oh Mother, tell your children

Not to do what I have done

Spend your lives in sin and misery

In the house of the Rising Sun

Dean turned towards you, nothing but hurt and anger in his eyes. “You want to fight monsters?”

“I do fight monsters, Dean.” What was he getting at?

“You sure? Okay. Then you sure as hell better be willing to become one yourself, ‘cause you know what? At the end of the day, somebody gets eaten. Somebody dies. Me and Sam? We’ve both been monsters. We’ve both died. Several times. And you know, I’m not totally sure that I ever stopped being a monster. That’s what this life does to you. To everyone. There’s no escaping it, not really.”

He was almost nose to nose with you now, and you could smell the whiskey on his breath. He must have more than holy water in those canteens.

“Dean, I know! Y—“

“No, you don’t, Y/N… not really.” Sam’s quiet interjection drew your and Dean’s attention, and the tension dissipated into something more morose, thickening the air.

“What don’t I know, Sam?” You whispered, suddenly afraid of the answer.

“You’re a death echo, too. You’re a ghost.”

The air seemed too stale now, stifling. The room was too small and too big, too hot and too cold, too bright and too dark. “What do you mean? I don’t understand?”

Dean took a step toward you, but you jerked away from his touch. “Y/N… We found your body in the basement after the first day. You’ve been dead for a few days, your body was already cold and stiff by the time we arrived. You’re the reason the EMF is always going haywire.”

“No… no. You’re lying.” You shook your head, backing away slowly.

Dean continued softly, “Then, you disappeared after the first echo event we saw. You reappeared right before the second, but I could tell you didn’t know you were dead. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry… We should have been here sooner. I should’ve driven faster. I didn’t know…”

Your voice sounded foreign and distant, “So all this time? When you threw the crowbar? You apologized for almost hitting me.”

Dean looked up then, knowing that you must have thought you were part of the conversation. “We couldn’t see you. I apologized because you died before I could save you.”

It was then you realized that in all the times you were thrown into the basement, never once had you looked down, never seen your pale, broken body crumpled and tossed to the side.

Day Three

“Okay. We’re going to destroy this thing. Let’s start in the basement.” You’d had a little while to try to come to terms with your predicament.

“Are you sure? Maybe you should stay up here while we dig around.” Sam shifted on his feet uncomfortably.

“I can handle it. Besides, I’m probably the only one here who is fluent in old Egyptian hieroglyphs AND Cajun voodoo. You need me.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I used to do a lot of things,” You snapped.

“Okay, just don’t… ghost out on us.” Dean shouldered the bag of weapons and opened the door leading to the basement, flashlight at the ready to reach the edges where sunlight couldn’t. The brothers had tea tree oil dipped bandanas wrapped around their faces in preparation of the rancid smell of the lowest level of the house. If there was ever one true smell of death, this was it, the masks hardly able to make it bearable.

You tried to avoid looking at your remains, knowing that if you lingered too long, you would lose too much humanity and would be unable to complete your mission. And as your last, this was arguably the most important.

You nearly walked through Sam, making him shiver and jump slightly, but the boys’ eyes never left the wall. You followed their gaze to find old sigils, broken demon traps, but most of all, GET OUT written in what appeared to be your own blood. Even as disturbing as the image was, you couldn’t help but to scoff at the unoriginality of the threat. The brothers slowly turned to look at you, brows furrowed and Dean’s mouth slightly open, as he breathed “Really?” in response to your nonchalant reaction. You shrugged.

“What? I’m already dead. What do I have to fear?” You crossed your arms. You didn’t remember being this grumpy in life, but hey—you were freakin dead so who gives a damn? You wouldn’t be around long enough to become a vengeful spirit anyway, you all knew what had to be done. You had every right to be pissy and sarcastic.

While the house was largely void of any furniture or proof that people had ever actually lived or worked here, there were a few books still scattered about the basement, along with spell-casting ingredients, from feathers, bones, bowls, knives, and other nefarious items.

“Witches man,” Dean grumbled under his breath, beginning a rant that only he could hear.

Sam sighed and started flipping through one of the leather bound spell books. “Hey, get this, so they summoned demons here all the time to make deals, and even tried to put a leash on Akhenaten, often making sacrifices in his name.”

“Well that backfired.” Dean joined his brother’s side, eyes narrowed as he tried to see what Sam did. “And let me guess, when the sacrifices stopped, the angry dead king got pissed and started killing and trapping the souls here.”

You paced around the room, trying to remember the hieroglyphs of protection and purification. It only took a moment, and you picked up a small bowl and searched through the ingredients, finding sage, salt, griffin feather, and finally holy oil from Dean’s duffle.

You’d caught their attention and they watched you closely. You stood before them, not wanting to ask for the final ingredient. Sam nodded first, blinking hard and reaching for his knife, positioning it over his forearm. Dean grasped his hand, stopping Sam before he made the cut.

“I’ll do it.” Dean took his own knife and opened a vein into the bowl before Sam could protest.

“Thanks, Dean. I’d use my own, but… You know.” When there was enough of the foul mixture, you stood to begin destroying the current sigils and replacing them with new ones—some that would hopefully weaken the poltergeist enough for you to destroy it. You tried not to think about what might happen after the fight. Energy can neither be created nor destroyed; rather, it transforms from one form to another. You held onto this knowledge, hoping that there wasn’t just nothingness or pain on the other-other side.

The sun was beginning to set again.

The house was covered in sigils and protection symbols now, and lined with salt to keep anything from escaping. You stared at the Winchesters, drinking in their apparent strength and beauty. You wanted to memorize them, as they would be the last warm thing you’d ever know. You were quiet, locked within yourself, chest full of icy cement. Your eyes stung, but remained perfectly dry. The house was silent, air stale with the weight of your coming sacrifice in the room. No one wanted to talk about it. Dean had already made it clear that he would do anything else if he could, but understandably, protecting Sam was his priority, as well it should be. When Dean felt your eyes on him, he lifted to meet your gaze, eyes sunken and red rimmed from lack of sustenance and sleep. You knew the men were running on empty. You prayed that you’d be strong enough to beat this thing.

The moment the death echoes started, Sam jumped to his feet and slapped his bloody palm to the nearest sigil, dissipating the ghosts temporarily, along with you. You faded from their sight, but remained in the room, suddenly face to face with the pharaoh. You swallowed hard, taking one last glance at the Winchesters, who were looking all around, searching for the source of the wind that whipped about them. With a flick of his hand, the old king sent the men flying backwards. A deeper rage than you’d ever felt before ignited within you, and you surged towards the evil entity.

Well, I’ve got one foot on the platform

The other foot on the train

I’m going back to New Orleans

To wear that ball and chain

The Winchesters looked on in a heap on the floor together, arms over their faces as your bright white light spun twisted and neutralized the black wiry smoke of the poltergeist. The house quaked, dust and debris beginning to fall from the ceiling, pieces of wall collapsing. In one last violent shriek and flash of blinding light, everything was over. Even though it was the middle of the night, light from outside the house finally filtered through, illuminating the damage. The brothers helped each other to their unsteady feet, blinking and adjusting. They could hear the wind and crickets outside now. Dean ran to the front door and found that it had swung open. At last, they were free. Dean smiled then turned to look back at Sam.

Sam stood in awe, watching little orbs slowly find their way through the roof and on towards heaven, Dean joining in his wonder. You were gone, but your sacrifice freed hundreds. Dean wiped at the tear forming in his eye and patted his brother on the back. “Come on, Sammy, our work’s not done.”

Sam nodded, following Dean to the basement to collect your remains. Just as the sun crested on the horizon, Dean lit your pyre. The boys stood there just long enough to make sure you had a proper hunter’s funeral, then moved to leave. “Wait Dean.”

Sam pointed to the sun amulet. He ran back into the house and came out to the balcony, easily unhooking it from old weathered hooks that nearly crumbled in his hands. He planned on adding this to the Men of Letters inventory of possibly cursed objects and lost artifacts. The Impala growled to life below him, and he sprinted back to the car, knowing Dean would make him walk for a few miles if he didn’t hurry.

Sam jumped in Baby just as Dean put her in reverse. “Man, I never wanna come back here again. Let’s go get some grub and a bed. What say you, Sammy?”

Sam looked at the golden tablet in his hands. “Yeah, I’m pooped.”

Dean leaned over and turned up the radio, so ready to have some tunes after the ordeal. It was a familiar tune, and Dean began to back out of the driveway, slamming the brakes when he recognized it.

“Well there is a house in New Orleans

They call the rising sun

And it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy

And God, I know I’m one”

Dean and Sam both reached for the radio, racing to switch it off. They looked at each other and swallowed hard, then turned to catch the last glimpse of the dreadful house.

The House of the Rising Sun.


End file.
